A/N: Here's chapter 2! This chapter is going to be from Castiel's perspective, and I think there was something that I forgot to cover in my introduction to last chapter that I'll just explain now (if I've already covered it I apologise). When somebody speaks Enochian in one of Castiel's chapters, it'll appear "in quotation marks and italics, like this" just so you can tell what language is being spoken/whether or not any non-angels around will be able to understand. If something is written in Enochian in one of Castiel's chapters, it will appear in bold, and italicised, like this. If, in one of Dean's chapters, something is said in Enochian, it'll be "bold, italicised and in quotation marks". If something is written in Enochian (I don't know that it will be, but it might come up) in one of Dean's chapters, again, it'll be bold and italicised, like with Castiel. I think that's everything - just an FYI for this chapter, because I wanted to make it clear that the conversations Castiel has with his siblings are in Enochian; at least here.
Thanks weedom for reviewing, I really appreciated it! To answer your question, (as best I can), the story will end happily despite any character deaths that occur, it'll just be fairly bittersweet/a little sad because of the character deaths, I expect. While I can't say too much without giving the game away, I do promise that the ending will be happy.
That's everything, here's chapter 2! Hope you all enjoy, please comment with any thoughts/requests/helpful crit on the story! Thanks!
Chapter 2—Impressions
"But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."
—John Keating, Dead Poets Society
Castiel has never seen Humans before.
He has heard the Angel teachings of them; has been taught their languages—Edius, the High Tongue of Old Eofor and Hera, Ceol, the assortment of languages of the northern hill tribes, Thracyll and Venet, the common tongues of the Human lands beside the sea; Castiel has heard tales of Humanity's endless battles and needless violence ever since he was a child. He has spent hours devoured by their literature and stories, has spent his childhood pining after that which he has never known. He has also heard of their constant suffering, caused by needless bloodshed—too often of their own kind, of their own kin. Angels pity Humans. This is what everybody tells Castiel.
Angels pity Humans for the intensity and rawness of their emotions; for how poorly they restrain themselves, for the way they allow their anger to swallow them like a burning sea, dragging their minds under her scorching depths and sell themselves to her irrational actions; for the way they leave their sentiments to flow so freely from their bodies and souls, so clearly unperturbed by all the possible consequences.
Angels pity Humans.
Michael has told Castiel not to say this to anyone at the meeting between the two races, because it might offend them—which Castiel finds oddly amusing—well, surely anyone would become offended if this was said to them of their kind?—But it's true, he supposes. Humans are famed for their impulsiveness and irrationality, and Angels pity humanity and its ostensible need for constant warfare—war with the Demons was at least moderately understood at the time that it broke out; but with each other? Humans fight over land and resources as much as they fight over matters of justice. The Angels have not involved themselves in conflict for over a century; not since the rebellion of Metatron. After his rebellion, Metatron had been considered a Grigori—a criminal too dangerous for exile and placed in the heart of the dungeons of the mountains. Michael had persuaded Castiel's father not to have him put to death, although many Angels argue that this would have been a kinder option than the solitude of Metatron's sentence.
Castiel's father had died when Castiel was only a child. Castiel can still recall now of how in his final years of rule, the Angel King did not resemble the fearsome, grand and ancient creature he once was. Michael had been forced to take over many of the High King's duties after Lucifer left the Kingdom—which had been why Metatron thought it such an ideal time to begin an attempted coup. He had seen what he believed to be a weakness in the rule over Evadne and the other Angel Kingdoms. Castiel thinks that Metatron hadn't known of the strength his brother possessed, both as a warrior and as a leader. The uprising had been quashed as quickly as it had occurred.
Castiel's mother had died when Castiel was a baby. He has no memory of her, although he wishes he did—watching mothers with their children on the street, stroking their child's wings comfortingly or kissing their child's forehead has always made something inside of Castiel pang in longing, and he realises that he most longs for that which he never really had. They say that Castiel's father had never been the same after his wife's death, that each day a shadow passed further and further over his face and heart; draining him constantly, until eventually he was nothing more than a hollow shell of the king he once was. Castiel knew from his brothers and sister that Castiel's parents had been dearly in love. This has never been very usual for Angels. Angels are often withheld and formal, cordial with friends and only slightly more informal with those closest to them. Castiel's family, he supposes, is something of an exception. Angels may love—certainly, they do—but not in the way that Humans do.
Castiel's father had become cold to the world after the death of his wife, and after Lucifer's return and rebellion, something inside of the angel had broken.
Michael has always said that Castiel's father had loved Lucifer, dearly. Gabriel jokes that Lucifer had been his favourite, but every time he thinks to bring this up, Michael casts a stony glare over in Gabriel's direction. Then Gabriel corrects himself, laughing, and says that he forgot that Michael and Lucifer had always held joint first place for their father's love. Perhaps it is because Michael knew their father when he was a far greater and happier Angel that he is so intent on honouring his memory, on respecting the Angel dearly even beyond his death. Perhaps it is because Michael can remember what their father used to be like before his heart was splintered so tragically that he is so desperate to continue in his subtle worshipping and constant defence of the once Angel King.
Meanwhile, Castiel isn't quite sure what his own opinions on his father are.
The strongest memory that he holds of his father is that he was always sad. Always sad. Dark shadows rested under his eyes that Castiel, as a child, would trace with the tip of his finger when seated on his father's lap, wondering how it was someone could look as though their soul had been burned out at both ends.
Here, settled on the King of the Angels, Castiel would brush against the dark circles, a curious frown winding its way across his features.
"Where did you get these from, father?" Castiel would ask, tracing the tip of his tiny finger over the honest hints of how hollowed out and icy inside his father truly was.
"Time, Castiel." His father would laugh. His father would laugh and stroke the tips of Castiel's feathers, his face smiling, but his eyes crying. He would cup Castiel's small hands in his own, tears falling onto the shadows beneath his eyes. His chest would rumble with both laughter and sobs. "Time." He would repeat, the ghost of Castiel's mother dancing on the back of his eyelids. "And love."
Castiel's father was never cold towards him when he was alive. Sometimes Castiel feels as though he should have been. If it were not for Castiel, his mother would still be living. She had died after his birth; a few days after Castiel had been born. Castiel had been told that his birth had been very complicated, that Castiel's mother had taken very ill afterwards. And so he blames himself. As he ought to.
"Don't worry, little brother." Michael will smile gently down at him, whenever Castiel thinks to express these concerns. But Castiel can see—although Michael is clearly convinced that he can't—the sad, distant look in his brother's eyes, whenever he speaks of their mother. "Childbirth is a dangerous time. For both the baby and the mother."
"Is it my fault?"
"It's not your fault, little one. Angels die, too. We're just as mortal as the Humans are, only a little sturdier. That's okay. And we're all very glad that we didn't lose you in that time, as well as her."
Castiel would look down shyly, at this. It was his fault, it is his fault, but nobody wants to say it.
Their father had passed on only a short while after Lucifer had returned and attempted a coup. It had been one grief-stricken blow too much for the Angel King's poor heart.
Lucifer had left the kingdom of Evadne when he and Michael had been around the same age that Castiel is now. He had asked Michael to come with him at the time, and Michael had decided to stay—knowing nothing of what it was Lucifer truly had in mind for his years of absence—and Lucifer had accused him of betrayal. But there was something else, too, something the two of them had fought about, and nobody is willing to tell Castiel. The details of all of this are unbearably murky.
All this had been over a century ago. Michael and Lucifer had both been very young at the time. Nobody had heard from Lucifer until the attack—Castiel wonders if each of his family had always secretly known, had suspected that Lucifer hadn't really gone to seek out a life of independence away from the Heavenly Realms just as he had claimed; but that he had been looking for something so much more. Michael won't tell him why it is he and his brother had the argument; only that it resulted in Lucifer storming out of the castle, away from the mountains, outraged.
According to Anna, Lucifer and their father had been in a dispute a few days before he had left, too. She won't say what it had been about. Castiel hadn't even been born at the time of the fight—he would come into being almost centuries later—and so he has to take his brother's and sister's word for the truth when it comes to matters such as these, however unconvincing all that they say may seem.
Nobody will tell Castiel more than this. Only that Lucifer had attempted to return, thirteen years ago, and that resolving the dispute between himself and their father had not been the aim of his sudden reappearance. Castiel has been told, by Anna, that their father had still loved Lucifer too much to be able to defeat him, that he had still been too wounded, too splintered, after the impact of their mother's death—and so the task to oppose Lucifer had fallen upon Michael's shoulders.
Michael, who was always obedient to his father, had followed his instruction.
And Castiel, no matter how many times he asks, is never told anything else.
Of course, despite the fact that his siblings alongside all those serving and living in Evadne refuse to give him any more details, Castiel is able to work certain things out for himself, however blurred the specifics of these theories may be.
For example, he knows that Lucifer's return has something to do with the Demon attack on Hera thirteen years ago. And he wonders if one of the reasons that Angels have refused to involve themselves thus far in the conflict is still because of Lucifer. Castiel doubts that even Michael would have been able to carry out his father's instruction to destroy his twin brother those decades ago; Michael, for all his talk of self-restraint and discipline, has far too much love in his heart for his family to do anything of the sort—and to his twin? Perhaps Michael had only defeated Lucifer; had only been able to go that far, but never as far as actually killing his twin brother. Michael and Lucifer had once been very close, Castiel has been told.
Michael is still very new to kingship. He has been an Archangel for as long as Castiel can remember, but now he rules over all Angels, instead of simply those in his own kingdom. Anna was made Archangel just after Lucifer's rebellion and attempted coup, and now rules over the Kingdom of Tyrzah with some of their relatives who are also Archangels. Gabriel the head of a triumvirate of the Archangels of Theia, and so dwells there; closest to the kingdom of Hera out of all Castiel's siblings. Gabriel lives the closest to Humanity, and quietly, Castiel could not be more envious.
Seraphim—those Angels born into royalty, are able to choose if they wish to rule over Kingdoms or not. The state of control they will be allowed into varies depending on which family they are born into—those in the lower ranks of the Angel nobility often become council members, while all of Castiel's siblings—children of the High King, descendants of the first High Queen of Evadne—have become Archangels. Castiel will be given the choice of whether or not he wishes to become an Archangel, although he is of course expected to say yes when the time comes. Really, it is considered his duty to do so.
The High King or Queen of the Angels always lives in Evadne, the oldest kingdom in all the earth, so Castiel has been taught. He has lived in this kingdom all his life; he knows all the streets and cracks in the pavingstones of the Great City, can recite in order the colours of the houses and their doors and shutters from the White Gates to the Palace itself, knows what each of the stone steps up to the palace is made of—moonstone, air opal, starstone, glittering onyx, sun stone, deep jade, fire opal, water opal, the pale green earth stone of the forests of Myrrah that looks as though it has a thousand spidery trees trapped inside of it, lapis lazuli, and the pale blue-white stones of Larimar. He can recall each of the spiralling colours of the stained glass window of the Beth-Aim, the Holy Place of the Mother in his city. Inside these walls he has learnt everything of the beginnings and the ends of the world, of the Mother's love, of the heaven promised long ago to all lost souls, for almost two decades.
But inside the palace, nothing seemed more fascinating to Castiel than the creatures scattered across the land below the Angels; a people of whom Castiel has learnt is very different to his own kind.
They live down in the sloping grounds below the mountains, far away from Angel contact—they take, socially, an altogether very different stance to that of the Angels; and Castiel thinks that he dislikes many, if not most of the elements that compose the casting system of Humankind. But, he has decided, he likes their ideas of love.
Michael has given Castiel poetry written by Human hands and composed by Human minds; he has given him great Human literature to read over the years—sonnets and ballads and plays and piles of books. Castiel drinks Human literature. He drinks each and every word. Humans feel everything brutally and devastatingly—when Castiel reads Angel poetry all that he learns is that Angels hold faith higher than any other thing—when he reads Human poetry he can feel his own heart tearing with the raw and throbbing emotion that Humans feel when they fall, destructively, crushingly, in and out of love with each other. He can hardly help being absorbed by the latter and bored stupid with the former. Castiel is riveted by the idea of two people's souls being so tangled, so tightly woven together, that it becomes almost impossible to separate them; that to do so would be to tear them apart.
Angels do not fall in love generally, if at all. Falling in love is weak. Falling in love is a complication, and a needless one at that. Falling in love is Human.
Marriages in the Angels' dominion are for the benefit of others—to end petty conflict between families, or to strengthen relations between two households, or resolve troublesome financial situations. Marriages should be for the greater good. Love is not a necessary element in the equation, nor is it a useful one—much like Castiel's potential marriages to one of these Humans. Castiel knows that the Human he becomes engaged to will resent him. How could they not?
The Earthly Realm; the place where the Humans dwell, is bubbling with vibrant possibilities for each member of the race—they are able to fall in love as shatteringly as each of those poets Castiel has spent hours poring over had described—except now, whichever one of these Humans has to marry Castiel will not be given that opportunity. They will not be able to tangle their lives with another, to feel their breath catch in their throat whenever their eyes fell upon the one they are going to spend the rest of their life with. There will be no warmth, no fire—only those of regret and bitter resentment. And they will spend their entire existence knowing that all of the beauty and sunlight of true, romantic love is the way that it could have been, if they were able to marry of their own will, by their own choice.
And it ought to be said that Michael isn't forcing Castiel into the engagement, by any means—he would never do that to the youngest of his brothers—to the one that Gabriel constantly teases that Michael favours the most. But the weight of Castiel's duty; as a Sarim—that is, as an Angel prince—to serve his people, means that it is of a crushing importance that he does what was best for both the Angels he will one day rule; and the Humans he will be affecting in the process.
Castiel has also learnt that Humans are very unlike Angels in appearance. This is only what Castiel has heard, though—he has never had the opportunity to see one for himself—until now, that is: now he is gifted an opportunity to see a whole kingdom of them. But he has heard, from the mouths of other, far older Angels—and has seen in paintings and pictures and carvings and statues, the differences in the Human body from that of the Angels'.
They have no wings—a thought which Castiel finds very odd yet equally fascinating—the slope of their back faces no sudden rise and stretch of the division of feathered limbs—there is only skin unfolding from their shoulder blades; the indentations of their spine being one of the few details on their backs. Castiel wonders what it must be like, to dance his fingers slowly over the vertebrae of a Human spine, grazing the pad of his thumb over each hollow—to be met by the simple absence of feather and wing. He supposes it is simply another normalcy for Humans; that Angels must be the odd ones in the eyes of Humanity.
He doesn't find it disgusting, or even slightly upsetting, to think of the differences of the Human body. There lies, in his heart, a simple element of strange, enthralled fascination—although not a single aspect of this is of the morbid kind—he is merely drawn to the idea of so many differences between humankind and his own race.
Angels can speak to each other privately, too—without the use of their mouths, another thing Humans cannot do. They can pierce, softly, the veils of each other's minds and sit their quietly, calmly—it is a rather useful part of their biology; it means that cities which are located miles apart can still be linked together, that messages can be passed far more swiftly over the distance between. Michael says that if the Angels fought nearly as often as the Humans, that this would be a very useful addition to the methods and movement of warfare. He says that it would probably move war along at a much quicker pace and that any conflict would consequently be ended much faster. But perhaps it is because of the link that Angels can hold with each other that so little conflict occurs in their realm.
Angels do not use this ability for anything else, really; only ever for communication and formalities such as that. It's complex to hold the connection to one another for lengths of time further than a brief conversation—even a few words can be mentally draining as it often places a strain on the mind; and so is regarded as needless and frustrating for everyday interaction. It's only ever used for the formalities of communication by a great many miles, separated by the great mountains that Angels have named home for many thousands of years.
Humans don't have this ability to connect so intimately with each other—if intimate is the right word. Truthfully, the touch of another Angel's mind on another's is nothing more than cordial and bitingly formal; however personal the idea of action may be. The deed is stiflingly polite and almost discordant. Angels are too withheld, Castiel thinks. The trait that his race seems to most pride themselves on is the characteristic Castiel can find the largest fault in.
Angels, Castiel has decided, hold too great a love for ceremony. They pride themselves on the proper, on the fact that they often feel so suffocatingly little, that their emotions are so continuously smothered and repressed by their own minds. It is no longer self-control, Castiel thinks; it has grown to a ridiculous point beyond that. They are drowning themselves in an attempt at indifference and restraint. Michael says that this is a weakness, he says what Castiel thinks; that their father always taught Michael and all their siblings to feel fully and wholly, that controlling emotions was of the utmost importance so as to not be swallowed by the illogical, but that smothering them was unnatural, even for Angels.
Castiel does not understand how one is meant to feel, yet control; and control, yet not smother. Each of those things opposes the others to the point of cancelling one another out. But Michael and Anna seemingly manage it on a daily basis. Anna is intimately tender and loving, and her gestures such as ruffling his hair as she walks by him, patting on his shoulder as she comforts him, speak volumes of the warmth that courses through her at the sight of her youngest brother. She never raises her voice when reprimanding him, never gives more than a slight frown. Michael is a teacher to Castiel; a teacher and a brother and a mother and a father. He is gentle yet reproving, loving yet intimidating. The action of him raising an eyebrow at Castiel is enough to silence the younger Angel all but completely; the warmth of his smile is enough to break Castiel out into helpless laughter. Castiel's siblings are impossible contradictions. And Castiel doesn't feel like other Angels seem to. He struggles to control his emotions; sentimentality and passion course thickly through him like fiery magma through his blood, instead of the icy calm of indifference which is continuously pulsed through all other Angels' frames. Castiel feels fiercely, he struggles to control his temper, struggles to hide his emotions; he cries at the stories he hears, feels torn and affected by them enough to remove himself from contact with others for hours on end as a result.
Anna tells him that his emotions are not a weakness. She tells him that it is a sign of compassion, of humanity. The only problem with this explanation, the issue which causes a frown to twist at Castiel's face as his sister brushes aside his concerns, is that humanity is not considered a virtue in Angel culture—quite the opposite. Michael says that perhaps it should be, that perhaps Castiel's raw emotions are a good thing, that one day they will serve the kingdom; but these words feel empty and do nothing to soothe the aching worry in Castiel's heart. Humans fight so much because they feel so much—and Castiel seems to feel just as heavily as Humans do. What will he end up doing when his emotions surpass his control?
Humans also have shorter lifespans to those of the Angels. Michael says that many of them are jealous of Angels, for having the ability to live so long—there is always something of a hint of condescension in his tone whenever he thinks to bring this up; and Castiel wonders why this is—perhaps Michael does not consider a long life to be a necessarily good one. Perhaps he appreciates the thought of a life so much more simple than one which spans the centuries, runs up against millennia—the one that he holds now. Perhaps he enjoys the idea of a far shorter mortality.
Castiel wonders why it is he chose to live so long, if the Human life span is so appealing to his brother.
Not many, if none at all, of the Angels choose to live for a shorter, more intimate amount of time. Castiel imagines that each second would seem to be worth so much more, when one's life has been depreciated by so much—but perhaps many Angels enjoy the languid pace they are able to live life at. Humans are said to bubble with anticipation and brim with movement at the hectic everyday affairs which so constantly fill their lives—it sounds exhausting, being so constantly busy, afraid of time, afraid of it running out—and yet, living a lifetime for generations of Humans sounds equally so. Castiel doesn't know what he will decide when he is faced with the choice.
Angels are given a choice, when they were twenty-one, of whether they wish to continue living a far less mortal life, or if they would prefer to be far more finite in their lifespan. To choose the more mortal life, as Angels put it, is to 'fall from grace'. The phrase makes Castiel frown. It is yet another way in which his kind pity Humans. But despite choosing not to 'fall', Angels can by no means live forever—they are not in any way immortal. Their lives do span many centuries; often up to thousands of years. Castiel isn't sure if this is something he wants. After watching the void of loneliness swallow his father for all those years; he rather dislikes the idea of experiencing so much, for so long. He imagines it to be exhausting—but then, it is the reality that he will probably have to end up facing. The thought is strangely daunting for Castiel.
"Little brother, are you feeling alright?" Michael asks, turning to Castiel. He has been lost in conversation with one of his advisers for what feels like the past six hours, and has only just flitted his eyes over to his younger brother, to notice him looking stagnantly distant. Castiel can feel the worried lines twisting at his face, and he makes an effort to smother them before flicking his eyes back up to his brother.
"I'm fine, thank you, Michael." Castiel nods. He looks away again, and feels the gentle touch of his brother's hand on the curve of his wing. He wants to pull away, his mind knotting with worry, but he doesn't. He glances outside the window of the chariot, and the soft, emerald green land rolling beside them, and wonders again why it is that his brother thought it prudent not to fly to the Human kingdom.
Small houses litter the landscape every now and then; some made of a sandy coloured stone with straw roofs, others simpler still, composed almost entirely of wood. Zachariah made a joke before they departed for the Earthly Realms of the mud huts that Humans lived in, but Michael fixed the adviser with the iciest glare Castiel has ever seen, and the Council-Member quickly silenced himself.
They have passed towns where the homes seem more lavish than simple stone or wood, the outside plastered white with dark wood, the stones a pale grey. A few of the Humans now look out of their homes at the hoard of passing chariots; perhaps because they know what this day means, perhaps because it is not especially usual for them to see so many horses and wheelhouses making their way along their simple, hardly paved roads. Castiel strains his neck to gain a better view of them; desperate to see the Humans a little more up close. All he can make out from where he sits is the absence of their wings; which is of course not especially useful.
They have stopped only twice on their journey so far. After flying to the foot of the mountains, where their chariots and wheelhouses awaited them, they made their way from the borders of the kingdom of Theia, down through the land of the Heran Hill and Mountain tribes and into the plains and valleys winding with rivers of the land below. Castiel is exhausted by travel, and, though he can hardly believe it, bored of staring out of the window at the passing evidences of Human civilisation.
"You're not very good at lying, little Prince." Gabriel observes, laughing quietly next to him. Castiel fixes his older brother with the stoniest glare he can muster.
"I'm not little." He frowns. He hates himself for how petulant and indignant these words sound as they fall from his lips. To his credit, Gabriel chooses not to tease him for this, and instead goads him over something else.
"You're fine with Michael calling you little—"
"What's wrong, Castiel?" Michael interrupts, glancing rather pointedly at Gabriel for a brief moment.
"Nothing." Castiel mumbles. He resumes his staring out of the window, ignoring Gabriel's snort next to him.
"Remember that you don't have to do this, if you don't want to." Michael says gently, as if reading Castiel's mind. The hand, flecked with scars from battle, returns to Castiel's wing in an attempt at comfort.
"Although I don't get why it's such an issue." Gabriel shrugs. The sunlight streaming through the chariot's window sets the flecks of gold in his eyes on fire. "This is exactly the same as any other Angel marriage you'd have; except this one is with a Human. You should be delighted—you love Humans."
"Exactly." Castiel says, shortly.
"Exactly, what?" Gabriel frowns.
"The Human who you want me to marry—they'll have spent their whole lives expecting to fall in love with someone slowly, properly, to marry someone who means the world to them—and they got landed into this… deal… to aid the peace agreement."
"Oh, he's talking about love again." Gabriel laughs. His eyes spark still more with amusement. Castiel scowls over to his brother. "Listen, Castiel, you're going to be marrying someone born into royalty—someone who knows that each one of their actions is either for the benefit or disadvantage of their kingdom. They'll understand that this is a sacrifice they have to make."
"So you're saying that I should, too?"
"Well, like Michael said, you still get a choice in this. But yes, ideally, you should understand that this is for the benefit of both Angel and Humankind." Gabriel explains, his tone taking on a far softer element.
"But I don't want to." Castiel says shortly, his voice quiet and small. Again, he hates how petulant and childish he comes across.
"And you don't have to." Gabriel shrugs.
Castiel sighs and looks down again.
Yes, he does.
"Where's Anna?" He asks, looking up at Michael after a brief quiet. "Why did she leave our carriage?"
The adviser in the carriage with them looks out of the window now, rather awkwardly. Castiel bites his lip slightly as the Angel's gleaming wings bristle faintly.
"She's in another chariot, now, with her own advisers. Matters in Tyrzah needed to be discussed." Michael says simply. "We'll see her again when we get there."
"Remind me again where 'there' is?" Gabriel asks, smirking somewhat as he speaks. Gabriel does this a lot. He seems constantly bemused by his surroundings, and Castiel, who rarely finds himself smiling, thinks it quite an odd quirk.
"Castle Hera, Gabriel." Michael sighs. Castiel understands his frustration; sometimes it seems as though their brother is deliberately infuriating. "I think I've already had to mention that to you more than enough times." How Gabriel manages to rule his kingdom as well as he does is beyond Castiel—Gabriel's personality combined with the position of power that he has been placed in should add up to the kingdom of Theia being set up in flames.
Gabriel grins and shrugs.
"We should probably practice speaking in the native tongue." He laughs.
"You should practice." Castiel frowns. "I can speak the language of the Humans without any difficulty."
"Good for you." Gabriel smiles. Castiel senses that he is being sarcastic, and squints over to his brother. Michael chooses to ignore both of them, apparently.
"We'll be arriving soon." He states, his tone simple and fairly emotionless.
"Why did we have to travel from the mountains by carriage, Michael?" Gabriel asks, frowning somewhat as he speaks—Castiel finds it something of a relief from his constant grinning and smirking.
"Because there are so many of us." Michael shrugs. "And we have so many belongings to take with us. The stay is looking to be a fairly long one, after all."
"How long are we staying for?" Castiel asks, looking back to his oldest brother.
"A few weeks, I suppose. It's difficult to say."
"And who's going to be ruling over the kingdoms, while you're gone?" Castiel asks.
The lines forming Michael's face harden at this. Castiel dislikes it when they do that—he dislikes every time he has to find his brother threatening, every time his brother takes off the calm and still exterior to reveal the rigid outlines of a King.
Michael has not been King of all the Angels for very long—some would consider him inexperienced, and if it had not been for the precision and wisdom of his rule thus far, the opinion would almost certainly be a universal one amongst the Angels. Castiel has been trained in combat by Michael, has seen his hard meticulousness as a warrior and a fighter, has seen how lethal and terrifying his brother can truly be. And he dislikes knowing this. He dislikes knowing that the calm brother, who smiles at Castiel like the sun sets in his eyes, is also the Angel who can silence an army with a single glare.
Michael became King after the death of their father; and something changed in his heart. Anna says such rule and responsibility often do just this to a person. Castiel prays it won't happen to him, too. Michael had technically been ruling and carrying out many of the responsibilities of a King for numerous years before that; while their father was ill with grief from Lucifer's betrayal, from their mother's death. After each of these events, their father's heart only became more and more numb. Michael is hardening in his rule, too. Castiel has seen the change happening; the hard lines already formed on his face, the ever growing sturdiness and rigidness of Michael's heart, the withdrawnness that comes with authority.
"Raphael." Michael answers, and Castiel thinks he sees something in his brother's jaw twitch faintly.
"Raphael?" Gabriel repeats, frowning. "Are you sure that's a wise move, brother?"
Michael looks away.
"Frankly, Garbriel, I had very few other options. And bringing Raphael here, to Hera, would have been even more of a poor decision, on my part. You know what he thinks of the Humans."
"Like Lucifer." Gabriel hums. Michael's eyes snap up to his brother's face. His demeanour changes, as it does every time his twin brother's name is mentioned.
"What do you mean?"
"He is like Lucifer." Gabriel explains, rather ineffectively.
"In regards to his sentiments towards the Humans?"
"Yes." Gabriel nods once. "It's something we should watch out for."
Michael hums in thoughtful agreement, his frame taught and awkward for a moment, before receding back into itself.
"But I doubt his views are so severe."
"Still." Gabriel shrugs. "Severity is subjective. Views are open to change—over time and through environment. Such uncontrolled power may not be good for him, with you, Anna and I in the lands below him."
"We have others stationed in Evadne, too. He is not the only one watching over our Kingdoms."
"Who else is there?" Gabriel asks, leaning slightly towards Michael as he speaks. Worry is twisting at his face, and it is one of the few times that Castiel is allowed to see him act as a true leader; let alone a serious one.
"Balthazar." Michael replies. Gabriel relaxes a little, at this. "Jael. Hofniel and Naomi in Theia and Tyrzah. And Hester in Evadne."
"Jael the Ne El? The Holy One and Prophet of the Mother?"
"Yes—Jael is an honourable servant of both God and of our people. And we needed someone of the faith to oversee Raphael."
"Okay…" Gabriel nods, looking only slightly more appeased. "And advisers will be staying there, too?"
"Some, yes." Michael nods. The adviser sat next to him still chooses to remain silent. "Most, in fact."
"And what agreements are you hoping to come to, after all of this?" Gabriel asks.
"Ones that benefit our people." Michael shrugs. "And, hopefully, the Humans, also."
"Could you bear to be a little more precise?" Gabriel chortles.
"We may have to get involved in the war between Hera and the Demons."
Gabriel's face turns sombre at his brother's answer.
"You know what that means—"
"Yes, Gabriel, I know what it means."
"Are you sure you want to—"
"Would I be saying any of this if I wasn't sure?"
"Michael—"
"Gabriel." Michael says, firmly. His eyes dart pointedly over to Castiel, then back to Gabriel. He doesn't make any effort to make this gesture subtle, and Castiel resents it immediately. "Another time."
Gabriel nods and sits back slightly. Castiel has gone as quiet as the Angel adviser sitting next to his oldest brother.
Castiel is used to this kind of guarded talk in his presence.
His siblings often leave him out of conversations, convinced that he is too young to listen in, convinced that whatever he hears will hurt him. Castiel finds it patronising but he tries to understand, however difficult it may be.
"Who is it, exactly? Who you would like me to be marrying?" Castiel asks—partly to change the subject, and partly because he has been wondering this for the past hour or so.
"His name is Dean." Michael says. "Dean Winchester. He is the son of John Winchester, the King of Hera."
"How old is he?" Castiel asks, cautiously.
"He's your age. A few months younger, actually."
Castiel nods.
"He won't want to marry me." He says, his voice grating against his throat.
"What makes you say that?"
"Why would he want to?"
"For the good of his Kingdom."
Castiel makes an unconvinced noise at the back of his throat and presses his head against the frame of the chariot frustratedly. There is a long pause in conversation, and he feels his brothers' eyes boring into the side of his head, but refuses to acknowledge them for several minutes, resolving instead to drink in the sights of the surrounding landscape. It is odd for Castiel to see terrain that is so flat. He has lived his entire life on land composed of sharp declines and angles; horizons shrouded by still more mountains beyond his home.
"What's he like?" Castiel asks after what feels like an age of the discordant silence.
Michael, who has looked away and out of his own window during the lull in conversation, now looks back over to his brother.
"He has one younger sibling, whose name is Samuel, although I believe he goes by the name Sam. That's how he's named in all of Sir Robert's letters, at least."
"Anything else?"
"His mother was killed in the Demon attack on Hera thirteen years ago." Michael says, slightly awkwardly. "I am told that John became rather withdrawn, after that."
"Like our father did."
"Yes." Michael coughs. "It's understandable—" Gabriel pointedly rolls his eyes as their brother speaks. Michael sighs and his wings bristle uncomfortably, choosing to stop there. "I have also heard that he bears a lot of grudges against Angels for not intervening—although we had no idea that the attack was going to happen, in our defence—and that he's also still angry that we didn't involve ourselves in the war."
"Until now."
"Yes, until now." Michael nods, his voice turning soft and thoughtful.
"So it's probably best if we're cautious around that issue." Gabriel interjects. "We don't want to offend anyone."
Castiel finds it somewhat ironic that those words came out of Gabriel's mouth.
"Should we have helped the Humans in the war?" Castiel asks, his face lining with a cautious worry.
"We had our own issues at the time." Michael says shortly.
"Like what?" Castiel presses.
"It doesn't matter, Castiel."
"If we didn't become involved—"
"Castiel." Michael cuts Castiel off, firmly. Castiel sits back and bites his lip, looking down. There is another pause. "We weren't obliged to help them." Michael says, gently this time.
"But you told me that our ancestors promised to help humanity when—"
"When it needed help." Michael interrupts. "King John wanted revenge. Not help. We were not in any way obliged to help them."
"So why are we helping them now?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that, Castiel."
"Because you don't know?"
"I'm King, little brother, of course I know."
"So why can't you tell me?"
"Castiel." The hard edge returns to Michael's voice again.
Castiel looks back down. Gabriel is looking out of the window awkwardly too, now. Michael's gaze lingers on Castiel's face for only a moment, before he sighs and shifts his line of vision away.
"One day, I will tell you everything." Michael reassures, looking at the trees rolling past the window. "But now is a little too soon."
"I'm ready to know, Michael. I'm not a child anymore—"
"Castiel."
Another grating silence. Castiel resolves to look at the trees flitting by outside of the chariot, too. He loathes being left out of things so often.
"What else can you tell me about the person I'm to be engaged to? This Dean?" He asks.
"I don't know." Michael shrugs. "He was in the Human war over land divisions with the Kingdom of Dione, around a year ago."
"He was in a war?"
"Yes." Michael nods.
"He's probably quite damaged, in that case." Gabriel mutters, but Michael glares at him. "You're marrying our brother off to a broken prince?"
"He would have been trained in combat for years, much like you have been, Castiel." Michael speaks plainly, ignoring Gabriel. "He would've known what he was getting into."
Castiel nods.
Michael turns to the adviser seated next to him and begins discussing matters of politics once more. Castiel loses himself in his own thoughts, burning away another few minutes, before another pressing one crosses his mind.
"Are Humans taught Enochian, just as we are taught their languages?" He asks.
Michael turns to him, another gentle smile lacing his features.
"No, Castiel, I very much doubt it."
"Why is that?"
"Because they don't feel the need, I suppose. Whenever Angels have communicated with Humans in the past, it has always been in their own languages."
"Why is that?" Castiel asks again. He hears Gabriel chuckle softly next to him, and glowers at the sound.
"I don't know." Michael laughs, gently. "It's just the way things are, Castiel."
"Perhaps you could teach one of them Enochian."
"Don't mock me, Gabriel." Castiel bites.
"I'm not!" Gabriel grins. "You're marrying one of them, after all—you could probably teach your Dean a few words!"
"Gabriel, stop goading our little brother." Michael sighs, before Castiel can respond to his brother's teasing properly. "And remember, he still has a choice. You don't have to do this if you don't want to." He reminds, turning back to Castiel.
"Yes, but I'm still obligated to say yes." Castiel mumbles. Neither of his brothers respond. They know Castiel is right.
Castiel wonders what the Humans will be like. He wonders what Dean will be like. He has spent his entire lifetime hearing tales of Humanity, hearing his relatives and teachers explain to him the differences between Angels and Humans; both socially and physically. He's never before had the opportunity to meet one of them and find out for himself. And now he wants to find out everything. Excitement courses thickly through him, as does a dense, heavy anxiety. It gnaws at his nerves, making him swallow thickly often and worry at his lip. It worms its way up his throat and knots itself over his heart and around his tongue.
Prince Dean of Hera will resent him. The forest to one side of the carriage begins to thin out a little, the dense emerald of evergreen trees, and the lighter shades of oaks, pines and yews grows more subtle, not quite sparse but certainly not the mess of green and brown, inseparable from itself, that it had been.
"Look, Castiel, you can see the castle!" Gabriel grins, slightly childishly—which amuses Castiel endlessly and drags him away from his worrying thoughts for but a brief moment—Gabriel points out of the window to a massive, shadowy building in the distance, encompassed by walls and fortifications.
Castiel finds it odd.
There are very few such defences in Angel Kingdoms.
He looks out at the citadel, regarding it slowly. The Great Castle of Hera; so named after the kingdom, is of mammoth proportions, and yet it is not beautiful. Great, yes, but not elegant.
Castiel swallows thickly.
Its walls are the same dull grey as the stony faces of the mountains in Castiel's home. Somehow they manage to hold none of the same warmth and familiarity.
He watches as the castle draws nearer and nearer. Already he feels exhausted from travel; but his heart is practically in his throat. Castiel wishes that this wasn't such a huge affair. He wishes he and his family didn't have to travel by carriage. He wishes his brother hadn't insisted on bringing council members and servants to the Kingdom of Hera, too.
"Why Hera, Michael?" Gabriel asks, turning back to his brother.
The castle is looming in the distance ahead of them, now.
Michael glances over to Castiel first, then to Gabriel before answering.
"It seemed appropriate." He shrugs lightly. Castiel isn't sure that this is the whole truth of the matter. "Hera is the Kingdom which started the war against the Demons, they were the Kingdom attacked by said Demons thirteen years ago. Dean Winchester lives in Hera. It all seemed rather fitting, if fitting is the right word."
"And why Dean Winchester?"
"He was the only Prince appropriate for our brother."
"He hasn't been crowned yet, you know." Gabriel laughs.
"Yes, but he will be." Michael rolls his eyes, looking away, but Castiel sees a rare smile twitching at his brother's lips.
"What do you mean, he was the only Prince who fit?"
"He's the same age as you." Michael replies shortly, shrugging again.
"Oh." Castiel nods, although he senses that there is something more to the matter, as always. "Is that all you meant?"
"Yes." Michael confirms.
Castiel is able to perceive still that his brother is lying to him, or at least not telling the whole truth, but he doesn't say anything more.
"Have you ever met Humans before?" He asks his brother.
He knows that Angels have not spoken to Humans in centuries, but perhaps his brother was around when they interacted last.
"A long time ago, yes." Michael smiles softly at his youngest brother. "Although perhaps not as long ago as it feels."
"What was it like? What were they like?"
"Worthy of more respect than most Angel nobility would speak of them with." Michael replies. "And, while we're on the subject; I would appreciate it greatly if the two of you could be as courteous as possible." Michael says firmly, staring in particular at Gabriel.
"When would we dream of being anything else?" Gabriel asks, grinning widely. Michael sighs and looks back at Castiel. Castiel considers for a moment that however out of place he is in their family, Gabriel is just as odd—if not in passion and a general lack of self-control, then in his apparent need to treat everything under the sun as if it were a joke, when most, if not all other Angels seem to lack any sense of humour.
"What else are the Humans like?" Castiel enquires. "Do they feel as intensely as everyone says they do?"
"Yes, I suppose." Michael quirks another slight smile. It looks almost affectionate, and perhaps a little bit sad.
The adviser seated next to Castiel's oldest brother smirks, now.
"What's wrong with that?" Castiel frowns over to the Angel.
"Nothing is 'wrong' with it." The Angel shrugs. "Apart from, perhaps, it is a mark of how innocent Humans truly are."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that we can only hope that one day, they will grow out of the habit of feeling so passionately. It makes them rather vulnerable, and a lot further behind both Angels and Demons… Though perhaps you may not understand why."
Castiel looks down, something inside of his heart tearing limply.
Gabriel seems to sense his distress, and furthermore, understands the root of it, because he turns to the Angel and frowns, his manner changing suddenly.
"Demons feel passionately, too, Naya'il." He counters, speaking almost harshly to the adviser. "Except, as far as I can tell, they only feel anger. At least Humans feel positive emotions, as well as their negative ones."
The Angel—Naya'il—shrugs and looks out of his window.
"And if you ask me, anything is better than pride." Gabriel continues, rather pointedly. The adviser's eyes brush back to Gabriel's face, and a frown flickers across his features.
"—Which is why we will all have to behave as humbly as possible." Michael interrupts purposefully. "We will be guests in the Humans' household, and we should conduct ourselves as such. Which means that there is no room for arrogance or any air of superiority."
The adviser looks down, humbled.
Castiel fiddles with his own hands, twisting his fingers over each other anxiously to pass the time.
He looks up again when the carriage travels over the drawbridge, and into the castle village.
"People are staring." Castiel observes.
"I'd expect them to." Gabriel chuckles. "They've never seen Angels before, after all."
"Are we the first to arrive?"
"We should be." Michael nods.
"Where is Anna?"
"She'll be in the carriage behind us."
They are making their way through the lower levels of the city, now, down the wide road onto which narrower, more clustered paths and alleys and streets are connected. Castiel sees more Humans peering shyly at them—he catches a glance of a small child, probably not much over two years of age, sat in his mother's arms as he gazes wide-eyed through Castiel's window and at Castiel. Castiel's lips twitch upwards and he gives a soft wave at the child. The boy smiles shyly, then widely and waves back, before burying his face in his mother's shoulder. Castiel can't help but beam—this is his first interaction with a Human, he thinks to himself, and already he is endeared beyond belief.
He sees still more Humans crowded around little shop fronts, all dressed in muted colours of beige and brown and grey, a skittering of navy here and there—the clearly richer merchants wear more maroons and violets, still somehow dull by comparison of most Angel attire; Castiel sees what he believes to be a blacksmiths, with dull metal tools hung up by the windows and a horseshoe of rusted iron hung from the front door, which is of a faint, grainy red colour. Some of these Humans appear clearly foreign, from the Southern Isles or descendants of those from Dione; they have darker skin and hair and eyes and wear different clothing to those obviously in their homeland—long, flowing tunics instead of doublets, shirts and hose. An older human is making her way from a stand covered in food of bright yellows and oranges and greens, carrying a basket laden with it in her hands. Castiel sees a yellow food in there that he hardly recognises, a cutting of folded silk sits in her basket also, as do dozens of what Castiel supposes are the season's first fruits. A younger man offers to help her with it. Castiel's heart basks inside his chest.
The buildings are all mismatched and totally different—some are the grey of the castle and its walls; clearly built around the time castle Hera was—others are tall and wooden and uneven, looking ready to fall onto the street below but somehow still remaining upright. Other buildings have roofs of thatched straw, others—those owned by clearly more wealthy people—have balconies and brightly painted doors and shutters. Some have flowers spilling out of windowsills; and Castiel spots an apothecary with medicinal herbs clustered on the windowsill and a bundle of lavender tied above the door. Zerachiel, one of the healers in Castiel's home and one who has served Castiel's family for as long as he can remember, carries hyssop with him everywhere he goes and has it tied in wreaths everywhere he works and lives. He has always told Castiel of its sacred and purifying properties—Castiel wonders if lavender or any other plants in Hera are sacred to the Humans that live here.
Everywhere there is talking and noise and bustling; Castiel can recognise the Heran dialect of Edian, which is the language of Eofor and Hera and much of Corinna, and Castiel can hear music pouring out of a tavern and the happy shouts of drunken men and women, and he breaks out into a beam which he cannot seem to supress, because already he thinks he is in love with humanity.
The crowded streets are brimming with life; saturated with it, and the sound of lutes and lyres can still be heard as their chariot continues to roll along the cobbled narrow streets. The smell of bread, wheat and barley, of bitter rotting fruits and the sweet scent of horses and straw fills the air; decorations are hung up across each road, from house to house, to celebrate the Angel's arrival, flags bearing the crests of Hera and of House Winchester are fixed at every corner.
The Angels are attracting more and more attention, now; Castiel can hear the excited murmuring of words like Angels and wings and magic; and despite everything else, he thinks he may actually enjoy his time in Hera.
"How did you organise all of this, Michael?"
"With great difficultly."
Gabriel rolls his eyes and snorts at his brother's rare attempt at a humorous comment.
"King John—well, really, it was his adviser, Sir Robert—He and I communicated through letters for several months before all of this was given the King of Hera's approval." Michael explains. "It was needlessly complicated. While we're here I'd also like to discuss a clearer route of communication."
The carriage has grinded to a halt now, and Castiel looks up and outside, and sees that they have drawn to a standstill in a rather large, paved courtyard. Carriages behind them are drawing up, too, and the Angel who had been driving their own chariot steps down onto the uneven pale grey paving stones and opens the door of the carriage for them. Michael steps out first, dipping his head in the bright sunlight.
When out in the courtyard, Castiel sees his sister exiting her carriage, also. She beams over to him, waving. The sun on her hair and wings gives the effect of them being on fire as she approaches Castiel.
"Hello, little brother." She greets, ruffling Castiel's hair. "How was your journey? I'm sorry I couldn't remain with you for all of it."
"It was bearable, I suppose." Castiel shrugs.
They had got into the carriages at the bottom of the Angel's mountains, at the border of the Heavenly Realms. Angels rarely, if ever, travel by animals, and so it is not massively often that Castiel sees a horse, let alone a whole mass of them ready to pull the many wheelhouses to the Human Kingdom.
"How was Gabriel?" Anna asks, a knowing smile flitting across her features.
"He was…Gabriel. And Gabriel is as he is."
"He wasn't too annoying?"
"No." Castiel finds himself laughing. Anna smiles and ruffles Castiel's hair softly; a gesture which he would find incredibly patronising, if it wasn't for the fact that his life had been so void of such maternal touches as these. As it is, he drinks them up.
Servants dressed in the bright green colours of the ruling family of Hera have opened the doors to the palace, now, and Castiel watches as the great doors slide, huge and mahogany, inwards, back into the castle. The doors at Angel palaces open outwards. Castiel notes the differences with mild curiosity.
A young man with dark hair, and the Kingdom of Hera's crest across his tunic, comes out and bows low to Michael. Michael nods his head to the servant, low, as a sign of respect, and the young man looks slightly taken aback—Castiel wonders if he is used to this kind of treatment. Michael has always taught Castiel to treat each servant in their Kingdom with as much honour and respect as he would anyone else—but he has been told that Humans treat their servants somewhat differently.
"Your Majesty." The Human says, in his own tongue. The words of this language sound different on the lips of Humans—Castiel has been taught their languages since he was a young child, and yet each letter is formed differently on the mouths of Angels—when this Human speaks, the words roll off his tongue and form quickly and unevenly at the back of his throat, so different from the fluid and often lilting speech of the Angels. Castiel finds all of it fascinating.
Michael bows his head again.
"The King of Hera has instructed me to tell you what an honour it is to have you here. His Majesty and his council are waiting to greet and welcome you in the main hall. You will be shown through in just a moment, when more of your court has assembled. After this, you will be shown to your rooms—we pray you find them acceptable for your stay. Tonight, the King is holding a great many celebrations of your arrival. We hope you find these, too, worthy of your presence"
The words seem almost forced out of the servants mouth. He is looking at Michael with terrified reverence, and Castiel still finds this strange, too. Michael has always taught him that royalty should never make their servants afraid of those they serve.
"Thank you." Michael smiles. "It is an honour to be here, and I am sure we will find our lodgings perfect."
The servant still looks a little nervous, although now his expression is mainly that of surprise. He smiles and bows his head as the last of the carriages are drawn in by horses. There are around thirty Angels, in total; some of whom are servants and footmen, others are advisers and nobility, and others still are Archangels. Castiel's siblings are among these.
Castiel spots the Angel Samandriel stepping down into the stony courtyard. Samandriel spots him, too, and smiles, nodding his head respectfully in Castiel's direction. Castiel returns the action. Samandriel is a servant, a Malakim in a far lower class than Castiel—but somehow the Angel manages to be one of Castiel's only and closest friends.
And despite their differences, each cast of Angels has a duty; just as Castiel has his duty, which is why it is of paramount importance that he does what is considered best for his Kingdom—which is why he really doesn't have much of a choice in becoming engaged to one of these Humans.
With this thought, his heart twists slightly in an odd nervous reaction. What will Prince Dean be like? Will he even be nice? With all that Castiel has heard of the Human classes and the way they separate themselves out, Castiel can imagine that as the son of the King, Dean thinks rather highly of himself. Really, Dean could be every bit as spoiled and pompous and horrible as the cruel Human Princes in the stories Castiel has read, the princes who steal the lovers of better and more honourable men.
And, on top of all of this, Dean will also have every right to hate Castiel. Which means that their relationship—whatever it would or could be, would also most likely be quite a gloomy one.
Yet, Castiel thinks, allowing hope to spark lightly inside of him, perhaps Dean has a very kind heart. Perhaps Castiel will find himself enjoying the Human's company; liking him—maybe loving him, as the Humans in the stories Castiel has read fall in love. Perhaps one day the Human may grow to love him—could anyone ever love Castiel? In such a pure, unconditional way as in all those stories? He finds it odd to think—and perhaps this is a little sad—but he's never considered himself particularly worthy of that kind of affection before. Hope and frantic nervousness swell up inside of him.
But still; their relationship, whatever it entails, will be a particularly adverse one, and that is for certain. Dean has probably been promised a life lead only by his own choices, by his own loves, until now. Castiel has never been given that. It has always been a granted that he should marry to benefit the people whom he would one day rule over—this was probably never said to Dean until he was practically forced into the betrothal to Castiel.
Samandriel approaches Castiel now—another thing which would be considered unusual in the Human realms—and smiles in a friendly, travel weary manner at him. While Castiel is in his home in Evadne; he has very few people to actually talk to. The castle in which he was raised is of gigantic proportions, and a great many Angels are housed there; and yet everybody there is constantly busied with some kind of important activity or errand in which to run—and so Castiel is too often left in solitude. Michael, as the King of not only Evadne but also of all the Angels in all the Kingdoms, is consistently having to attend council sessions, to speak to his people and confer with his advisers, to pass laws and decisions. He must run the armies and decide upon their funds, resolve conflicts and avoid war on a daily basis.
And Anna, Castiel's older sister, lives in Tyrzah, as an Archangel. Castiel is rarely able to see her, due to her mounting responsibilities, however much he may like to. Anna has always been rebellious and fiery, and able to make her own decisions, which are generally faultless and precise and incredibly well informed, in the blink of an eye. She is also able to make Castiel smile; a difficult feat by any means; and is even more impressively able to make him laugh—but the two are rarely able to see each other anymore. Gabriel lives in Theia, ruling over it as one of its Archangels. Castiel would never admit to it, but he misses Gabriel's company around the castle in Evadne, quite terribly.
Their cousins Hester and Naomi both travel mostly, as Seraphim, to advise and convey messages to the other Kingdoms. Castiel is told that Naomi plans to settle in Theia when the year is done. As for Hester, she is currently running things—or at least assisting in their running—in wake of Michael's absence; however, what she wishes to do in the years to come is something of a mystery to Castiel and he cannot describe himself as being massively close to either of the pair. They both seem cool and bitter at times, too formal at others and lacking all the warmth that Castiel knows his siblings to possess.
He knows Naomi to be impulsive, though not in the way that his sister, Anna, is—although Michael says that this can be a positive trait, too. She is by no means reckless, at least. That said; Naomi has always been a rather cold and distant individual, which Castiel has often found oddly contradictory of her often forceful and robust demeanour. Hester is a little short tempered, especially for an Angel; but she is fair on most occasions, and shockingly quick-witted. Michael says that she would make an excellent Archangel if she ever came into the position.
Castiel has a great many relatives. All of them accepted their roles as nobility, whatever these entailed, except for one.
Of course, Lucifer is absent from the kingdoms.
And so Castiel is, more often than not, bound by the absence of his family when in the castle, with only himself and his books for company. The only time he is generally able to see Michael is at each meal, where the two of them talk, and he is filled in on the events of the day—that is, if Michael considers them appropriate to disclose—and at Castiel's training. Michael insists on teaching Castiel himself.
So, in moments of solitude, void of any other company, Samandriel will often be a welcome companion for Castiel. He is of a similar age to Castiel, perhaps a little older, and has served Castiel's family for a fair few years, now. He and Castiel will talk about many things; and Castiel is always very grateful for it; and as for Samandriel himself, Castiel finds his companionship extremely pleasant and relieving.
"Hello, Prince Castiel." The Angel smiles, giving a small bow, which Castiel returns—it is a custom of which Angels seem to pride themselves on; a sign of mutual respect. Castiel wonders if it is anything more than a mere tradition, an item of ceremony—he rather appreciates the gesture, and so hopes that it holds a deeper meaning than merely that of social convention.
"Hello, Samandriel." Castiel smiles. "How was your journey?"
"It was good, I think—well, I was driving the carriage, so I would hope so, anyway."
Castiel's lips are tilted upwards slightly in amusement.
"Good." He smiles.
"And how was yours, Prince Castiel?"
"I suppose it was tolerable." Castiel shrugs, just as he did with Anna when answering this question.
"Are you excited for seeing the Humans?"
"Well, I suppose I should be, shouldn't I?" Castiel laughs, although it feels somewhat forced. Samandriel chuckles, too.
Samandriel has brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Angel eyes are said to be more focussed, more piercing than the eyes of Humans, and this is yet another difference between the two species that fascinates Castiel. He wonders why it is, what has caused these differences over the centuries, and what they actually mean. Castiel imagines that he will find Human company far less threatening than he finds that of many Angels, simply because their gaze will be that much less intense, along with their thoughts and feelings being far more open, and Castiel therefore far more able to relate to them. Raphael, who has always seemed to look down on Humans, says that Human eyes are dull, Zachariah agrees and has told Castiel that Humans are dim-witted in comparison to Angels. Castiel does not think that they will be so; Human's write with explosions of passion and an emotiveness Angel's seem incapable of, even if many of the Human languages sound blunt and harsh in Castiel's ears—but then, Castiel has never met a Human before, whereas Raphael and Zachariah have, for all that Castiel knows. They're certainly old enough.
Samandriel also has a rather open and kind face, and Castiel thinks that he appreciates this. His life still seems quietly void of warmth and honest, unpretentious friendliness. Any that he can get is worth more to him than he can fully comprehend.
"We're going in to the castle, now, Castiel." Michael says, over his shoulder. "If you could arrange yourselves appropriately." He instructs all the Angels, now, and they nod, lining themselves in the already decided manner. Castiel smiles in a goodbye to Samandriel and goes and stands next to his sister. Anna smiles softly at him, her thin, dark lips quirking upwards in an affectionate manner.
"You know, you're almost as tall as me, now." Anna laughs gently. The sound is like water running over pebbles.
"I'm already taller." Castiel frowns. "By a long shot."
"No, that can't be possible." Anna tips her head back and giggles again. "You're still a little fledgling in my eyes!"
"You're very patronising." Castiel attempts to deadpan, but he senses that he fails miserably. Anna titters and ruffles his feathers deliberately annoyingly.
"Well, can you blame me?" Anna beams at her younger brother. "You'll always be a little prince to me."
"You're still being very patronising." Castiel observes.
"Sorry." Anna giggles again. "It's in my nature. As an older sister."
Gabriel approaches and stands next to the two of them.
"So, little Sarim, do you know why it took so long for them to let us in? Because I do." He grins. Castiel tilts his head to the side and frowns at his older brother. Gabriel is a mystery to Castiel, sometimes—he has no idea why his brother is so constantly bemused by everything; especially when Castiel finds himself so consistently solemn and perplexed.
"No." Castiel shakes his head.
"Do you want to know?" Gabriel grins.
Castiel sighs, as does his sister.
"Fine, Gabriel." She shrugs. "Tell us why."
"Your Dean—that's why." Gabriel grins at his younger brother. "He was late, apparently."
"Right." Castiel says shortly.
"Do you think it was out of nerves?" Gabriel asks, laughing, now.
"Shut up, Gabriel." Castiel sighs.
"You know it's not every day that you meet your future husband." Gabriel grins. "Are you nervous? I don't wish to freak you out or anything, little brother, but you kind of should be—"
"Gabriel, please—" Castiel groans, his heart sinking into his stomach—but Anna places a comforting hand on his shoulder and he relaxes into her touch.
"Do you think Dean will be nice? Do you think he'll be attractive?" Gabriel grins. "Do you find people attractive, Castiel? Because I've never actually seen you—"
Anna hits Gabriel, now, who yelps and swats her away.
"So, Castiel, are you nervous?" Anna asks, changing the subject as they enter through the castle doors, behind everyone else.
Michael is at the front of the group, while the servants, then advisers, then nobility follow him through.
"I don't know." Castiel shrugs. "I suppose, yes."
"You have every right to be. It's absolutely understandable that you are. Although of course, there isn't any need to be, brother."
"I don't think I want to do this."
"You don't have to." Anna reassures.
"But I do." Castiel protests. He hates how childish he sounds, already, but Anna gives him a gentle, sad sort of look.
"What makes you say that?"
"It's my duty, isn't it? I have to do what's best for the Kingdom, no matter what."
"Here's the thing, Castiel," Anna sighs, speaking firmly. "You do need to do what's best for the Kingdom. But you should prioritise, always, what's best for you."
Castiel nods. He glances nervously around the entrance hall they are currently standing in. Great grey pillars and arches surround them, and the whole place doesn't look at all welcoming, despite the bunting and tapestries hung around the place sporting colours of the richest golds and purples and greens imaginable, and the emblems of the three Angel Kingdoms—and of course the Kingdom of Hera.
"You're only a child, after all." Anna smiles softly.
"I'm not a child—" Castiel protests, but Gabriel cuts him off by snorting loudly.
"Sorry." Anna apologises. "Of course not. But you know, you might like him." Anna shrugs. "Dean, that is. Just meet him, at least. He's willing to meet you—"
"Well, he's probably been forced into it; too, let's face it—" Gabriel states realistically, but Anna cuts him off with a hard, angry glare.
"Just meet him." She says again to Castiel.
"None of you are married…" Castiel points out. "Not you, not Gabriel, not even Michael. Why should I be the one to marry first?"
"I know, and I know this feels unfair—"
"It feels unfair because it is unfair."
Anna sighs.
She doesn't respond.
The three of them nod their heads respectfully to the servants in the entrance hall, and, as the doors to the main hall are flung open, Castiel takes a deep breath.
"You might like him." Gabriel says again, quietly. "You might end up loving him." He grins.
"Shut up, Gabriel." Castiel hisses in his brother's direction.
It's a possibility, and one that Castiel had considered literally moments ago; but the thought that the Human won't love Castiel is terrifying—and the thought that he could? It sends lightning fizzing through Castiel's bones.
Gabriel laughs and waggles his eyebrows at his younger brother as they enter the main hall behind everyone else. Light from arched stained glass windows situated at the very back of the hall floods the room in colourful dappled light, seeping in like minnows in a stream, and Castiel has to blink for a moment, taking his surroundings in.
"There he is." Anna mutters to Castiel.
"There who is?" Castiel asks, looking around.
"Dean." Gabriel stage-whispers, pointing to the thrones at the front of the room, raised slightly.
Castiel looks up.
He sees a boy, an affectionate beam that floods the room with warmth, fixed on his face as he gazes at his younger brother, who is sat next to an empty throne—the boy's gaze snaps back up, over to the Angels, and his jaw drops and suddenly the room is filled with his awe, palpable and perfect and delighted at the sight of the approaching Angels.
Castiel is met by the absence of wings behind his throne, by the stretch of spine with nothing more than skin folding off of it, he stares at the soft, green eyes, so unlike any he has ever encountered; so gently intense, instead of bearing the hard, brittle intensity of so many Angels.
And this is what Humans look like.
This is what Humanity looks like.
The Human has light brown hair, which, like Castiel's, looks like it is difficult to tame—either that, or Dean didn't exactly try to tame it this morning. Castiel makes out freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose in the sunlight filtered through the stained windows of the Main Hall, and an awestruck expression has spread itself across the young Prince's features, lost in wonder.
So this, Castiel thinks to himself, the earth's rotations grinding to a halt; this is Dean.
...
A/N: That's chapter 2! Next chapter Dean and Cas will finally get to meet, so keep reading! Please review!